I left Rishikesh last Sunday and am now, ten days later, in Sydney. The trouble with not writing a regular ‘diary’ is deciding how best to sum up the time between then and now. The details fade and impressions become generalised. Passing through the days in a foggy haze means I don’t feel fully present. I am aware of everything going on (kind of), and aware of my own thoughts, but really my reactions are very limited. I have to think ‘what am I looking at that is memorable’, and then remember it. After a few days the soupy-minded gathering of impressions has dwindled to a vagueness. 

I was happy to leave Rishikesh: the ashram wasn’t very lively and the only active thing I was doing were the yoga classes (which were great). An English girl attended a few of the classes, which jolted me out of the dazed calm of my daily life and forced me to communicate with a ‘native’, especially as she was very lively and chatty. It was a little test that meant I couldn’t just hide away in the ashram. I’d only really been communicating with Anuj, which was easy enough, although I could never quite fully relax. I felt OK talking to the guru but we never really made it onto interesting topics, which was annoying as I asked him about the fog and was reverently awaiting his enlightened comments (which never arrived). I had some nice chats with the monk, who asked me a lot of questions and told me his life story: how he decided to leave home and his life as a doctor to become a monk; His mother had been overjoyed, even though it meant a break with the family, but his father was not happy at all. Despite being so studious and focused on his holy path, he was actually very open and light-hearted. I wonder what will become of him. India has many layers of life I will never understand. From my non-religious perspective, I enjoyed the food at the ashram: typical consumer. I did have some pleasant little walks, battling the heat, but I wasn’t really engaging with anyone in Rishikesh. However, I don’t regret going, even though the Retreat was cancelled. It was useful to be in that atmosphere and to have a break for a while before the motor of responsibility cranks up again. 

In Delhi, I went back to the same air bnb, back to the chilled-out musician, who was dozing most of the time. But I don’t blame him- Delhi was roasting (40+), the fans in the flat churning the hot, thick air. For a couple of days I had a great strategy: wake up early and get a rickshaw to a park, observe all the 7am park antics (of which there are many: walking, jogging, chatting, cricket, meditation, yoga, aerobics, group-laughing…), then have a stroll around and get home late morning to attempt to sleep through some of the afternoon swelter. So everything was working well: I liked the area, calm but with some life, some friendly faces, some sense that this was a neighbourhood I could understand and be a little part of. It was great to be in the parks early in the morning, amongst the determined waggle of the power-walkers, the people smiling and saying hello (wondering what the hell I was doing there), one man asking in a friendly way if I was taking photos of birds, another fellow perambulator asking quizzically if I was Indian (How did I find the park? Welcome to India!). The Indians are generally great at the out-of-the-blue comment. You certainly won’t be ignored or left to your own advices in India, which is sometimes a good thing. I just wish I wasn’t so out of it when faced with an unexpected question. Still, the niceties were appreciated even if they didn’t lead to moments of connection. Plus, it was important to get out of the noise and the traffic, and see an un-rushed side to life in the city in the fresh morning air. One morning I was given cake- excellent! Another, I was given a glass of ‘buttermilk’- absolutely foul- it took me two laps of the park to get it down.

My walks took me through various districts, and if I’d had more time I could’ve seen quite few parts of the city. My favourite area was Deputy Ganj (north of the area I’d enjoyed wandering in on the previous visit- Nabi Karim). Again, that sense of getting lost and not quite knowing where you were going or what you would find: streets narrowing, hidden from the heat, atmosphere tightening a notch. Suddenly, the sense that you’ve sprung upon a secret place: streets that I had no reason to visit, with nowhere to hide. I was exposed and noticeable. People stared, or asked me (jokingly) to take photos of their friends, who waved me away. Other people asked me to take their portraits, which I always did, not quite knowing why… but some of those shots were quite good, reminders of the faces welcoming me into their streets. I noticed a rickshaw emptying itself of goats- an endless quantity streamed out, eventually herded down the right street. I set off in pursuit and soon found myself in a goat market- not to be described in detail. At times it’s good to be detached. A strange feeling not to feel present and connected, but useful when a kindly looking gent with an orange beard invites you to sit and have a tea at a stall facing a trailer of goat heads. Not the best view for a cafe, but at least he’d cornered (a corner of) the market. There was one smart guy there (nice polo shirt, tidy hair, clean shoes) who asked me what I was doing. Just having a wander, seeing the streets, I said. I asked him what he was doing; ‘Buying a goat’, he said. Having had my fill of goat parts and investigative journalism, I kept on wandering around and eventually out into the broader streets, with their familiar din. There were lots of large white cows/bulls used for pulling loads. I was admiring one that I’d walked into, decorated with painted brown dots. A nice young lad in a dirty white shirt told me it’d run out of food, and I didn’t doubt it. I gave him some cash for the cow, and hopefully they both got something decent to eat.

I didn’t go over the top sightseeing in Delhi, and there were definitely more monuments etc that I should’ve seen. I just hate that feeling of expending time and energy, forcing myself to feel impressed by something that leaves me feeling neutral and unaffected, and possibly quite tired. Sightseeing is often like that at the best of times. There’s no real room for surprise, because you’re already half-expecting to be amazed, so any reaction usually struggles to exceed the dutiful. Of course, it’s good to be open to these places, ignore the crowds and attempt to connect on a genuine level, casting the mind back to when it was probably dripping with gold and festooned with elephants. The other option is to go with no expectations at all and hope not to be entirely disappointed. With this strategy, I arrived at Humayun’s Tomb. I’m not going to describe all the details. I can’t be bothered, and don’t know how. Colin Thubron would do a great job. You can google it and read about it (which I’ve not done properly) and look at all the photos. It’s very impressive and I wandered around until my stocks of water were depleted, staring at the carved windows and the general splendour. I am very keen on Islamic architecture, that much I do know. All the geometry and symmetry: big soothing spaces, marble, tiles… beauty that is epic and intricate at the same time. Sightseeing over and done with, I filled the rest of the time attempting to drink all my favourite drinks: sugar cane juice from the churning machine (no spice, no ice), juice from the juice stand, coconut water, lassi, chai… The street options are plentiful and appealing, especially when your entire being seems to be evaporating.

And then it was all over and I was flying to Sydney, sitting next to a smiling older lady who kept asking me how much longer it was (she didn’t like to sit still, she said) and chuckling about the guy across the aisle who was asleep for the entire flight. We decided he must’ve boshed a lot of sleeping pills, or simply died just after boarding. She was off to visit her daughter in Canberra (for 6 months!). I watched two great Indian films on the plane: one (‘Lucknow Central’) about a guy who gets wrongfully sent to prison and sets up a band (thus fulfilling his dream), and one called ‘When Harry Met Sejal’- an incredible romp around Europe in search of a lost engagement ring (and true love). I love Air India, but the Indian lady said it might be going bust because of corruption. Still, the food is very tasty. This reminds me of another blog I never did, called ‘People I sat next to on the plane’. That was definitely a pre-fog blog, as now I rarely talk to anyone unless I have to- not ideal for a blog that relies on social interaction.

I’m back at the air bnb I was in before, in Redfern, in a different room, which is delightful because this mattress hasn’t turned my spine to mush. It’s a bit like my return to Delhi: this time I just seem to know what’s going on a bit more. Perhaps these are signs of being slightly less frazzled, although I’ve thought that in the past: a temporary illusion stamped out by reascending brain-fuzz. When I was in Sydney last time, I was ill (ruining my Bondi Holiday) and then running around sorting things out for the art fair in the rain. I can’t say I enjoyed the experience very much. It’s fair to say I was zombified for most of it, as I have been for the past three years (my three year fogiversary has been and gone, sometime at the start of May).

Things here didn’t get off to a great start. I arrived, had a cup of tea overlooking a busy pedestrian crossing (adjusting to the fact that I was no longer in India), slept, woke up, strolled to the opening event of the photo festival I am part of, didn’t go in, went to a bookshop, browsed for the duration of the event, and then strolled home. A typical example of brain-fog shutting down all chances of social interaction. I should’ve played it differently and (as well as not arriving on the same day as the event) made sure I’d arranged to meet someone there, thus giving myself some kind of anchor for the event. Even at my social finest, I still would’ve hated going to something like that alone. 

Since then things have been OK. I met up with an old friend who I knew in London, who lives here now. I was a bit nervous about the meeting, as I knew it would involve ‘group socialising’ on a Saturday night (and thus some boozing, which makes me feel more spaced out). But I managed it pretty well and enjoyed myself, which gave me a little boost for the next couple of days. I’ve been to two yoga classes (fairly close by), picked up the photos (small chat with the printer) and dropped them off at the gallery (small chat there), and had a few good photo-walks around the city, soaking up the autumn sunshine, observing the leafy street life.